


Know Your Weakness

by moonix



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Anal Sex, Hickeys, M/M, PWP, Porn with Feelings, just andrew and neil spending some quality time in their shared apartment, neck kisses, no beanbag chairs were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 22:59:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14412336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: “Neck fetish,” Andrew growls, yanking hard at Neil's hair until the skin at the back of his head prickles hotly.“Mm,” Neil hums. “Yours or mine?”





	Know Your Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "I know your weakness. It’s kisses. You are doomed. (Don’t worry. We’re all doomed eventually.)" (from some A Softer World prompt post on Tumblr)
> 
> Don't judge me, I've had this sitting in my WIPs for ages ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Neil kisses Andrew's neck in the hollow where his pulse ticks away the seconds. They are buried in a beanbag chair, next to a stale spill of light from the street lamp outside and surrounded by the leftovers of a day spent in each other's pockets. Takeaway containers still slick with curry and crusted with rice, spoons abandoned in puddles of melted triple choc ice-cream, Neil's battered second hand copy of Remarque's _Liebe deinen Nächsten_ with the bookmark unfortunately forgotten and Andrew's earphones tangled on top of a half-finished crossword. Andrew's body goes even softer underneath him, both hands fisted in Neil's hoodie and his head twisted to the side for better access. They've been kissing for hours: Neil's mouth feels tingly and raw as he drags his lips down over Andrew's throat, chasing the salt of his skin.

“Neck fetish,” Andrew growls, yanking hard at Neil's hair until the skin at the back of his head prickles hotly.

“Mm,” Neil hums. “Yours or mine?”

He smears the sweet residue of the question around Andrew's collarbone with his tongue and Andrew's breath hitches. Neil stifles a grin in the side of Andrew's neck and sucks lightly, eliciting a tiny full-body jerk. One of Andrew's hands creeps up under his hoodie again and rubs the pad of his thumb over a still-sensitive nipple, making him gasp. Neil retaliates by blowing hot breath over damp skin and softly, very softly, nibbling under Andrew's jaw.

“Fuck,” Andrew breathes, boneless and trembling. “Fuck you.”

“Okay, yes,” Neil murmurs in his ear, and Andrew makes a noise that Neil has never heard from him before.

It sounds like giving up, but in all the good ways.

“Yes?” Andrew sighs, a sloppy spill of a word.

Neil folds tiny puckered origami kisses into the hair at Andrew’s temple, then he pushes himself up onto his arms and thinks about it, trailing his eyes over the beautiful mess he's made of Andrew underneath him. Andrew is pink from the neck up, pupils blown in the low light, kiss-bitten lips; shirt creased, armbands off, jeans unbuttoned; the smooth wings of his hipbones and a tousled happy trail exposed from a waistband pushed low; the faint smudge of a bruise sulking in the crook of his neck.

“Yes,” Neil repeats, sure now around the smug warmth in his belly.

Andrew twitches and squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a controlled rush of breath. Neil can feel how hard he is where he's sitting in his lap. He contemplates the distance from their living room floor to their bedroom but the thought of undoing the joint tangle of their limbs is unappealing, so he merely shoves his sweatpants and underwear down as far as they go and dives back in for a kiss, leaving the logistics for Andrew to sort out.

“Hot,” Andrew comments lazily, running his calloused palms up the backs of Neil's naked thighs and stopping just under the crease of his ass. He probably means it sarcastically, but the way he rolls his hips up says otherwise.

“Just for you,” Neil hums. He sucks a wet noise from Andrew's throat and wriggles his hips in half-hearted protest when Andrew's fingers bite into his thighs.

“We need lube,” Andrew points out, already exposing his neck further to Neil's mouth. Neil thumbs the little bruise he left behind and places small, hard kisses around it, grazing the skin with his teeth and producing a little hiss from Andrew before he grabs him by the hair and pulls his head back. “Lube,” he repeats, “Now.”

“You're so bossy,” Neil smirks. “I like it.”

Andrew lightly smacks his ass and Neil laughs, squirming his way sideways off Andrew's lap and landing in a messy pile. Before he can get up, Andrew catches him by the hem of his hoodie and tugs.

“Off,” he commands.

“Boring,” Neil sings, pushing his sweatpants and underwear all the way off instead. He leaves the hoodie on and saunters over to their bedroom, his ass on cheeky display, and hears a groan and a thump as Andrew's head drops back into the beanbag. There's lube and condoms in their bedside drawer and he grabs a box of tissues for good measure. Some part of his brain is laughing about how offended Aaron would be if he knew they were going to have sex in his beanbag chair, but then he remembers that it isn't Aaron's chair anymore since Aaron left for med school and Andrew and Neil moved in together.

Most of their furniture is new except for some donations from the other Foxes – or, in the case of the beanbag, a permanent loan without Aaron's explicit knowledge, but Neil figures it was fair game after Aaron left it behind and Nicky said he didn't want it.

Andrew is palming himself through his fly when Neil comes back with his bounty and lowers himself into his lap. Andrew's shirt has mysteriously disappeared in the time Neil’s been gone and Neil makes sure to show his appreciation for this miracle by running his hands over his abs and licking fat wet stripes down his collarbone and chest. Somehow the lube finds its way into Andrew's hand. Somehow Andrew manages to get that hand between Neil's legs and push a slick finger into him, thumb rubbing up and down his perineum and the back of his balls, a sweet contrast of rough skin on soft. Neil makes his legs wider, heels digging into the carpet and toes curling when Andrew finds a good angle; he could stay like this for hours with his mouth on Andrew's neck and Andrew's fingers slowly revving him up for more.

Andrew pulls him up for a messy kiss and gets more lube on his hand, brushing his knuckles over Neil's hole like he knows Neil likes it. He goes back in with two fingers and strokes his free hand up over his ass and his back, following the knobs of his spine until he settles at the back of his neck, grip heavy and warm. There's a thin layer of sweat between their bodies and Neil presses himself down, relishing the slick closeness and the heat. He feels unbearably safe in Andrew’s arms.

His own fingers scrabble ineffectually at Andrew's waistband and Andrew pushes his fingers in as deep as they'll go and leaves them there before shifting around and pushing his pants down.

“Can I touch,” Neil mumbles against Andrew's jaw.

“Yes,” Andrew mumbles back, slowly fucking his fingers in and out of him, and warns, “But don't make me come yet.”

Neil wriggles his hand between them so he can get it around Andrew's dick. Andrew holds Neil's hips in place and keeps fingering him, watching his face with his mouth slack and his tongue curling against thin air like he's imagining tasting him. Neil squeezes his hand around Andrew's dick and strokes it up and down a few times, dragging it out; Andrew holds his breath and then lets it out and bites down on his bottom lip, body going pliant and hand going still.

“More fingers,” Neil requests, thumbing at the tip of Andrew's dick. Andrew grabs his ass with his free hand and pulls his cheeks apart, holding him open as he adds a third finger. They don't do this often, and Andrew always takes the prep very seriously – not that Neil doesn't appreciate it, but he's starting to worry he's the one who's going to come before they've even started.

“Andrew,” he moans, nuzzling his neck. Andrew grunts but doesn't stop and Neil tries a slurred “Drew.” It trips up Andrew’s rhythm enough that Neil can slide out of his grip and gather up the tattered remains of his wits. “'m ready.”

They both fumble with the condom and Andrew squeezes the bottle of lube too hard, dribbling some over his stomach in his haste to slick himself up. Neil feels hot and shivery and bats his hand away, lining himself up and sinking down slowly, his breathing fast and slippery in the silence.

He's still wearing his hoodie and Andrew still has his jeans around his knees but neither of them can be bothered to care, too busy kissing and bucking clumsily against each other. Neil carefully sits up, putting his hands on Andrew's chest for leverage, because he wants to look at Andrew while he rides him. He knows Andrew has a thing for this position, letting Neil do the work and exhaust himself until he's all fucked out and pliant and Andrew can take over for the final spurt.

Andrew looks flushed and _wrecked_ in the spill of lamplight from the window. Neil finds his rhythm and links their fingers together, letting Andrew clutch at him with a trembling hand. He feels vulnerable in all the good ways, in control but also not. His eyes find the hickey on Andrew's neck that looks darker now it's had time to brew and his stomach jolts a little in delight at being granted the tender privilege of marking him up like this.

Neither of them last very long. They never do.

Andrew rasps a shaking “Neil,” and Neil must look like he's about to go over the edge because Andrew scrambles up and wraps one arm around him, shifting his weight until he can bend them over the other way. He lowers Neil gently down on the floor and grabs a sofa cushion for his head, which doesn't actually do much for the rug burn he's bound to have but makes a little curl of warmth flare in Neil's belly nonetheless. His legs burn when he unfolds them, knees falling open to bracket Andrew's hips. It's easy to give himself over to Andrew like this, to the slow, steady roll of his hips and his mouth on his collar. Andrew’s hand pushes up his hoodie until he can suck on his nipples and find scars to trace out with his thumb.

“Babe,” Neil murmurs without thinking, “Can you – deeper –”

Andrew makes a helpless little noise in the back of his throat and pushes in deep, rocking his hips in short, fast thrusts that make Neil's moans go high-pitched. He takes Neil's hand again and cups it around his mouth, pressing a kiss into the centre of his palm, never faltering in his rhythm, and Neil holds his gaze and comes apart with a gasp and a shudder.

Everything goes a bit hazy around the edges but he thinks that Andrew must have been exerting some serious self-control, because he comes right after Neil, going rigid first and then slumping forward, barely holding himself up on his elbows. His face is red and sweaty and his breath is hot, and Neil tucks a stray curl behind Andrew's ear with trembling fingers and smiles, enjoying the view.

“That was so good,” Neil says because Andrew needs to hear that sometimes and Neil has made a habit of telling him every time just in case. “You were so good.”

“Shut up,” Andrew mutters, barely audible where his mouth is pressed against Neil's shoulder.

“You know me,” Neil grins. “I never do.”

Andrew makes another sound of surrender and lets him whisper praise in his ear until they both feel too gross to stay on the floor. Neil stretches out his aching legs and arms and flops about, tired and unwilling to drag himself into the bathroom, and Andrew gets rid of the condom, steps out of his crumpled jeans and kicks them aside before kneeling down again and sliding his arms under Neil.

“Woah,” Neil grins. “Excellent service.”

Andrew huffs and rolls his eyes but lifts him up anyway, and Neil wraps his arms around his neck and pokes at the beautiful purple bruise he made.

“I gave you a hickey,” he hums. “Not sorry.”

“You're a pest.”


End file.
